


Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds...

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domesticity, Fluff, M/M, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 18:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is not which alters when it alteration finds...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds...

**Author's Note:**

> _Let me not to the marriage of true minds_   
>  _Admit impediments, love is not love_   
>  _Which alters when it alteration finds,_   
>  _Or bends with the remover to remove._   
>  _O no, it is an ever-fixed mark_   
>  _That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_   
>  _It is the star to every wand'ring bark,_   
>  _Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._   
>  _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_   
>  _Within his bending sickle's compass come,_   
>  _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_   
>  _But bears it out even to the edge of doom:_   
>  _If this be error and upon me proved,_   
>  _I never writ, nor no man ever loved._
> 
>  
> 
> Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

They had, right from the early days, seemed to exist in their own isolated world. Once John had committed, however subconsciously, to putting Sherlock first, his attempts to find a girlfriend were doomed to fail. After Sarah, he'd only really dated Mary - a woman much like him, caring and strong-willed, who had smiled at him fondly and sent him home to Sherlock - before realising that he was already in love. Sherlock had spared little time and thought for anyone even before he met John; now even Mycroft and Lestrade were edged to the very periphery of his awareness. He had assumed that John's time and attention were his by right, even from the start, but he had taken rather longer to work out what John himself really meant to him.

In fact, it had taken what John would later refer to as Sherlock's Great Flail before Sherlock truly understood. They'd been sharing the flat for about six months, working and laughing and bickering together, quite happily for the most part. They were becoming closer emotionally, noticing and reacting to each other's physical presence more often, moving inexorably towards a full romantic and sexual relationship. As soon as he realised that, about 30 seconds after their first kiss, Sherlock began to panic.

Sherlock panicking was just plain hell to live with. He played the violin discordantly all night, he ensured that all of the food in the house was contaminated, he put dismembered fingers in the milk then sulked when John couldn't make him a cup of tea. He insulted John even more than usual in public, and became increasingly vicious in private. He did everything to push John away short of packing his bags and leaving them on the pavement. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing, had no idea that he was testing John, testing _them_. Luckily for them both, John had taken to having a few beers every couple of weeks with Lestrade, and one night found himself confessing that he was close to moving out. He loved Sherlock, he truly did, and he didn't want to go back to where they'd been before, not after that kiss (Lestrade raised a single eyebrow - he'd thought they'd been shagging for months). But John would rather take friendship and flatshare than nothing at all, which seemed to be where they were heading. John didn't know how to live with Sherlock when he was doing this. Maybe some space was what they needed to survive?

John never found out exactly what Lestrade said to Sherlock; Sherlock refused to discuss it, and Lestrade never talked about the details, saying only that he'd given Sherlock "a kick up the arse". But the following night, Sherlock had pounced on John as he walked through the door, his hands moving from John's hands to arms to shoulders to face and back again, as if he was terrified that John would leave if Sherlock let go of him. Sherlock had talked with uncharacteristic hesitation, explaining that he was inexperienced at emotional matters, unused to being in a relationship, had been overwhelmed, and had reacted... badly. He may have taken out some of his... discomfort out on John, and would John forgive him? He loved John, he was quite sure of that, the changing nature of their relationship had caught him off guard, but he loved John, and John had to understand that, and perhaps John would maybe consider staying, if Sherlock promised to-

John had kissed him then, and called him an idiot, and there was more love in that word than Sherlock had heard in his whole life.

Later, when Sherlock had found himself trying to survive alone, without John to act as his moral compass, then it was his love for John that kept him functioning, and kept him on the path home. John, for his part, refused to allow himself to "move on", despite the well-meaning attempts of his friends, and of Harry. He was in love, and when John Watson loved, he loved wholly and completely, with no room for doubt or "moving on". On the days and nights when the silence was too loud, it was that love that stopped him reaching for the gun or the pills.

They were both a little surprised that their strange, crazy, danger-filled lives together lasted long enough for the years to show on their faces. There were extra lines on John's face; more worry lines, but far more laughter lines too. As John slowly eased into middle-age, looking increasingly suited to his jumpers, Sherlock's hair started to show streaks of dignified silver. And so they continued to laugh and bicker together, teasing and grumbling at each other, John looking for all the world like everyone's favourite granddad while Sherlock, with a shock a white hair, looked every inch the patrician.

After that first time at the swimming pool, they had faced down death together more times than they could count (although Sherlock would insist differently). They had saved each others' lives at least as often. They had faced death screaming in agony, and stoic against the fear, and laughing at a shared joke. Finally, they faced death together in Sussex, John spending his days pottering about the house making tea and writing, whilst Sherlock pottered slightly more energetically about the garden, fussing over his bees, or settled onto the sofa, shouting at the television. And still there was bickering, and laughter, and this time there was no fear and no screaming.

And always, there was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in March 2011 (ie, between series one and two) for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6487.html?thread=32323415#t32323415): "Pick one of the Shakespearean sonnets. (If you need a resource: <http://poetry.eserver.org/sonnets>)
> 
> Use that sonnet as an inspiration for...well, anything. Fic, art, video - you name it. It just has to be based on the sonnet and Sherlock-related.
> 
> ...OKAY I'M A HOPELESS ROMANTIC SO SUE ME ;-)"


End file.
